Dr. Herbert Benjamin
cut a few fancy pickle capers. “There!” he said. “Maybe
now
you’re convinced.”
“Well I declare!” said the voice. “It’s a pickle after
all! I’ve never felt anything move about on me like
that
before.”
“Who are you?” asked Henry.
“Frank,” said the voice. “Just call me Frank. I’m
Frank the Floor, right here beneath you.”
Henry nearly jumped all the way back up to the
shelf, he was so shocked. He grabbed into his pickle
pack for help again, and found some Pardon-me.
“Oh, pardon me for walking on you this way,” said
Henry. “I beg your pardon. Excuse me please. Pardon.”
There was a silence.
Finally the voice said, “For goodness’ sake! Will
you
please
stop grabbing into that pack on your back,
and just
relax
! What do you think floors are
for
, except
to walk on?”
“Oh,” said Henry. “You see I’ve never been on a
floor before.”
“That’s right,” said the voice. “You aristocratic
pickles don’t come down much at night. We think you’re
a bunch of snobs, staying up on the shelf all the time.”
“Oh, I’m not a snob, I assure you,” said Henry. “It’s
just that pickles don’t travel much, as a rule.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re not a snob, Henry,”
said Frank. “Would you like to meet the bunch?”
“What bunch?” Henry asked.
“Well, there’s Carl the Carrot over there, and Sam
the stove, for example.”
13
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